


Artblock'd

by inquel



Series: Shrouded in Shadow [1]
Category: Drawn to Life (Video Game)
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Manipulation, Non-Human Humanoid Society, Religion, Religious Conflict, Shadow goo, The Creator is heavily talked about but does not say anything here, Wilfre doesn't like cops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:47:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23865496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inquel/pseuds/inquel
Summary: A quiet scoff echoed in his study. He couldn't believe this. An artblock, in front of the Book of Life!—In which Wilfre suffers from what all artists dread, has a chat with a cop, and finds a monster.
Series: Shrouded in Shadow [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1719721
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	Artblock'd

Silver tufts of fur swished through the air.

Fingers traced the light peach parchment.

Then, each digit lifted off its surface. The raposa sighed and closed his eyes.

After a deep breath in, he opened them once more to the same frustrating page. 

_'Creation Page'_ , it said.

 _'Breath soul into art'_ , it said.

Strangely straightforward for a forbidden object. How quaint.

It was what he's been vying for, what he's sprinkled deception and tip-toed around the village for, even as one of his ears continued to flick in annoyance.

Leaning back in his chair, Wilfre rolled his eyes and ran the soft barbs of feathers blooming from the quill-pen across his lips. He had been stuck in his house for at least an hour now, forcing himself to stay in the same wooden chair for at least half the hour, and freely pacing around the study for at least half of that half.

Why would The Creator of everything label its one tool for creation so simply? It would have been a smart move to layer the creation page with the foreign symbols that had littered other pages of the Book. What a pain those have proven to translate.

Furthermore, why did The Creator even leave such a valuable and dangerous item in the hands of its free-willed creations? The Book was begging to get stolen. For a being with the power to raise life and bring death, it was awfully shortsighted.

Such shortsightedness shall be corrected if he got his way.

A steely spark ignited within. His fingers tightened their grasp, and—with a resolute frown—flew the utensil over the ink bottle and dipped the nib.

Now to lay down a set of lines. They could form anything at all. An animal, a plant, a sentient lifeform with raposa levels of intelligence to exist beside themselves. It would obey him. It wouldn't harm him. Anything... _the power to create anything was in his literal hand!_

The fire bolstered and he felt it coarse through his entire body as he finally hovered his hand over the parchment of creation and—!

Promptly set the quill tip to dry.

No. It was his first creation, he couldn't just draw whatever. In fact, it was the first creation of rapokind. It had to be something special. 

Wilfre scratched the back of his ears. There was that question again, skirting around to haunt him. The question of what that _'something special'_ should be.

A quiet scoff echoed in his study. He couldn't believe this. An artblock, in front of the Book of Life!

Granted it was understandable to hesitate in front what brought his entire world into creation compared to the ordinary parchment he typically drew in, yet it was still vaguely embarrassing.

Well... at least the Book was in his hands. Regardless of his relations with the Creator, he knows there's a possibility of a raposa like him who realised the truth but did not inhabit a duty to their people. Who would use the Book for their own selfish gains, like the tyrant that made it. 

He was doing this for all of them. That was better than what the Creator has to offer. Always setting restrictions on its people then turning around claiming to love each and every rapo... ick! What he'd do is offer the raposa a life without sickness or crutches. Hardship and disagreements unfortunately will definitely have to stay, yes, else they'll grow restless. Oh, but the rules of gravity he'll have to find a way to play with. Flying would be make everything easier…

Ah. Wilfre shook his head with a smile. He was getting ahead of himself. He hadn't even translated the pages for the scientific rules!

Why rush then, if he had the time to…

Oh, wait, no he did not. His ears perked up as reality pulled him from his daydreams. Outside of his home were policemen searching for the Book and would likely kick him out of the village he grew up in just for attempting to bring new perspectives.

Though, in the comfort of his mind, Wilfre admitted it unnerved him that his deed hadn't been brought to light yet. Wasn’t the Creator all-seeing? Perhaps it wanted to give him a chance to come clean.

Another reason why it was shortsighted, he decided as he picked the quill up again. If only it gave itself the power to be omniscient in addition to omnipresent, then it would know such a ploy would bear no fruit.

He tapped the table's surface with his right hand while he inked the tip with his left. What he needed to do was decide on something to draw instead of idealising his plans. How ironic! He'd also been shortsighted, if only for a short while compared to the Creator's years of oversight… No, no, focus! Now's not the time to gripe about the idiot upstairs!

With a vexed groan, Wilfre raised the quill pen above the parchment and—

_Knock, knock._

Oh, what was it now!?

Wilfre hissed and jerked his hand away like it'd been an eyelash away from touching hot coal. In a way, it had been.

The sharp movement in turn pulled his arm to push the ink bottle over. He watched its contents spill onto the page with muted horror for a second before jumping into action. 

"For the love of—!" Wilfre hissed under his breath while righting the bottle up as the knocking returned. With ink splattered on his hands and sleeves he ran for the door, only pausing as he dug for a key to lock the study room.

A peek through the door hole showed what he expected—Cricket the resident deputy. Him alone however, and he seemed inquisitive rather than angry…

Wilfre slid the chain lock and pushed the door open a smidge. "Why are you here?"

A scuffle of boots. Then, "Something important has happened. All villagers are to come to a town meeting, right this moment."

Slide of a chain here, lift of a latch there, and the door handle could finally be yanked open in full. The sudden flash of sunlight absolutely burned.

"Wilfre, are you okay?" He could only squint his eyes in response.

Then his sight adjusted. 

"That took an awfully long time," the cop said with a raise of his bushy brow.

Letting out a long exhale, Wilfre closed his eyes momentarily. "I've been busy," he replied stiffly.

Cricket chuckled. "Hah, obviously. Judging by your vampirish reaction to light, you must've been there for a while!" 

"Yes, ha ha. Very funny." Wilfre put on a smile and clasped his hands behind his back. "You said something about an urgent meeting, but what in that brings an officer to my quiet little cottage on this fine afternoon?"

"Not that fine of an afternoon if the Book of Life had been stolen," Cricket replied with a morose stare. The mirth had vanished entirely.

"...excuse me?"

Eyes widening, Wilfre observed the cop mournfully take his hat in his hands.

"Sadly," he sighed, "the Book is missing from Town Hall. You know how the Mayor's kid is. She went in to play with the mannequin as always, then found that the Book wasn't on its pedestal."

"That's indeed sad. However, how do you know it hadn't been taken by The Creator for some… well, incomprehensible reason?"

"Because The Creator told us it had been stolen. Didn't tell us who or what, though."

"So strange," Wilfre muttered. A truth from his mouth this time. So expected, yet still so strange. It seemed that The Creator really did want him to confess his sin, even if it was evident that he wouldn't. "I'll get ready for the meeting in a bit—"

"In a bit?!" Cricket cried. "The Book's been stolen!"

Sighing, Wilfre raised a hand from behind his back. "Yes, but look. My clothes are ruined."

The older raposa barely glanced at the stained sleeves.

"Wilfre, nobody cares about the state of your clothing."

"I want to look the best for an important meeting!"

Cricket stared.

Wilfre crossed his arms. "It will take but a minute."

After a beat, Cricket groaned. "Alright, alright! You go do that and I'll get going now. Be sure to keep an eye out for suspicious individuals, ya hear? First time the Book's ever been stolen and… clothing of all things… having to wait…"

The grumbles of the cop trailed off as Wilfre paid him no more mind. _'Thank The Creator,'_ came the immediate thought before he squashed it down. Sure he had locked the study, but he would have been dead had the cop been decent at the job and searched the house thoroughly. Then, he would have seen the result of almost touching burning coal… 

"And have fun drawing later!"

Wilfre's mind grinded to a halt. "What?"

Cricket pointed a finger to Wilfre's sleeves. "Ink on someone like _youse_ fingers and clothing leads to an easy conclusion," he explained. "Don't _'what'_ me, Will, I can be an actual cop when I want to!"

A grin appeared on the cop rapo's face as Wilfre raised a brow himself. Then, scoffing, he uncrossed his arms.

"Yes. I will have tons of fun. Very much so. Now, shoo."

With his hands he gestured for Cricket to leave. Cricket's smug smile did not falter, in fact his eyes gleamed knowingly as he turned around and left. Wilfre could overhear him speaking to himself about jealousy and superior deductive skills.

He watched the cop's back disappear behind a few trees before sighing and directing a gaze up to the sky.

"He talked of the small specks of ink but did not find my clothing excuse suspicious. Seriously, Creator?"

Then again, The Creator may have _wanted_ him to steal the Book…

The idea of still being under the thumb of the entity Wilfre's risking his life to rebel against drew a scoff from him.

He headed back in. To avoid suspicion he'd best get going soon.

Wilfre was halfway finished taking off his stained jacket when he entered the study and found an abomination waiting.

It was a horrific mass of quivering darkness, wispy smoke-like tendrils enveloping its silhouette and dying a few inches into the air. 

Claws protruding from where hands would be.

 _Nothing_ protruding from where ears would be. 

Frightening part of all was its eyes. No face except for those glowing moons that beheld indefinite intelligence and, from where he stood, it was clearly larger than the average raposa by thricefold.

Wilfre lifted an arm. To placate the creature or protect himself, he did not know.

The creature lifted its arm as well. 

He stepped back.

The creature stepped back.

His amber eyes narrowed.

Its white eyes blinked.

With trepidation, he let his arm drop. Falling suit, the shadow monster's arm lowered.

"You're not going to hurt me, are you?"

To that, the creature blinked again. 

This time Wilfre let a breath of relief escape him. One hand slapped onto his forehead whilst the other kept its grip on the doorframe from when his legs went weak. Near his shoes laid his ponytail's ribbon.

The very first creation of rapokind—an ink monster.

The very first creator of rapokind—a disheveled mess.

"Sorry, but you must stay here," Wilfre told its confused face after donning his newly picked jacket and tying his newly combed hair, "I've got a meeting to run to."

**Author's Note:**

> i. The strange letters in the Book are a human language. You decide which one.
> 
> ii. Wilfre says he lives in a cottage but it’s more of a cabin, he says cottage because it sounds more sophisticated.
> 
> iii. Raposas in my world have hands instead of paws. Reason: I am a bastard devoid of fun. Though, their nails are naturally angled to be sharp. Wilfre and most of the village trim theirs to be less offensive. He starts letting them grow into claws some time after being shrouded in shadow.
> 
> —
> 
> Send Drawn to Life prompt suggestions if you have any to my writing tumblr at **https://inquel.tumblr.com**. This tag needs much much more and I'd love to help out.
> 
> Let me know your thoughts, especially regarding whether it was in-character or not. Thank you for reading.


End file.
